


Night call

by Bill_Longbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, vague descriptions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-05 10:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12188283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/pseuds/Bill_Longbow
Summary: For the discord winteriron server key exchange, where the wonderful Blue gave me this key:Victorian/Edwardian crime scene investigation





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_pointer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/gifts).



> Special thanks to QueenWuppy for beta-ing!
> 
>  
> 
> Comments are always welcome, hope you enjoy!

"Well, he's, ehh," he cleared his throat. "He's dead." Someone snorted in the crowd behind him. Dead was an understatement. The head was severed clean off the body and had rolled a few feet down the road, facing the other way.   
  
Damn him and his big mouth. He had no idea what he was doing here. He had been happily tinkering away in his workshop when Jarvis led in a bashful sheriff, twirling his bowler in his hands.   
  
Said sheriff stood at his shoulder, a bit too close to be comfortable. It was distracting, if he was honest.   
  
He took a step towards the corpse (away from the sheriff), fumbled for his notebook and very carefully wrote "subject dead". He crossed that out and wrote "deceased" instead. There, that's much more professional.   
  
The sheriff, a tiny blond scrap of a man, peered at the notebook and nodded to himself. "He sure is, mister."  
  
Tony sighed, how did he always find his way into these things? Just because he was a relative of the great Margaret Carter, rumoured co-founder of Scotland Yard, didn't mean he had any clue (ha!) how to solve a mysterious murder spree. Apparently this wasn't the first sod to part with his head, although those other murders had happened some time ago.   
  
He easily could've told the sheriff to find himself another detective. But no, he had taken one look at the chiseled jawline and the enormous blue eyes and had practically guaranteed he would find the culprit. Damn him and his libido. Would eunuchs have the same troubles? But how did they pee? Who could he ask about that?   
  
He was brought back from his musings when the sheriff cleared his throat. Oh, right, he had to look for clues.  
  
He went over to the body. Closer examination revealed the cut was made with something exceptionally sharp, the wound was clean and there wasn’t much splattered blood. Okay, he should write that down.   
  
He walked over to the head, counting steps. It lay approximately seven feet away from the body. Hmm, the force needed to propel it that far must have been excessive. He wrote that down as well.  
  
"Rogers, right?" A hopeful nod from the sheriff. He sent the man a winning smile and was pleased to see it brought a blush to the man's cheeks. He briefly wondered how far the blush would reach...  
  
Investigation. Right. "Rogers, who are we dealing with here?"  
  
"This would be master Hammer, sir."  
  
Tony nudged the head so he could see the face. Well, I'll be, it’s that slimy bastard. He didn't think anyone would miss him dearly, he certainly wouldn't. The little weasel had tried to cheat Tony out of a patent only last week. "Any idea as to why Hammer would be walking on this path, alone, in the middle of the night?"   
  
"Cuz he lived here, governor!" Someone shouted from the onlookers.   
  
Tony rolled his eyes, great, a comedian. He sauntered over to the fellow and threw his arm around the disturbingly broad shoulders.  
  
"Tell me, mister..."  
  
"Clint, guv."  
  
"Well then, tell me, Clint. How common is it to walk home, in the middle of the night, on a weekday, when there is a _murdering horseman_ _around_?" This last was delivered with more force, not at Clint, but at the audience as a whole. He was satisfied at the collective gasp that went up.   
  
He let go and walked a bit up the road. "We're in luck it had been raining, because now we know that up until here," he pointed at the footsteps that had dried in the mud, "Hammer had been walking, but he started to run."   
  
A grand gesture with his hands. " _To no avail!_ ” He walked to the treeline. "Because the horseman broke from the trees, right about.…here." He indicated with his foot. "And was upon our victim within…" A quick calculation in his head. "3.6 seconds. Ending his life, thus." A big sweep with his right hand as if he executed a stroke with his sword.   
  
He squinted at the scuffle of steps, and back at the treeline.That's odd... He crouched down at the body and examined the cut again.   
  
He walked over to the sheriff and gestured for him to walk with him, away from the townsfolk.   
  
"Do you know of any left-handed villagers?" He asked when they were out of hearing distance. "Because I'm pretty sure the blow was delivered with left."   
  
He had hoped the pretty sheriff would have been in awe of his deduction skills, maybe ask some questions and bat his lashes. Tony did _not_ expect him to become deadly pale and stop all his movements.   
  
Just his luck to break the tiny law enforcer. He waved his hand before Rogers' face. "You're okay there, sheriff?"  
  
This brought some life back to the smaller man, who blinked rapidly and squeaked that he was fine.   
  
Tony leered at him, fine indeed. The sheriff seemed to notice, and did a cute little huff of indignation. "I don't know of any left-handed gents, but I'll ask around. Now, if you don't have any further questions master Stark?"


	2. Chapter 2

With a heave, he put the giant gear in place, just as Jarvis announced a visitor.    
  
He wiped his brow with a cloth. "Do I need to dress, J?"   
  
"It's sergeant Barnes, sir. It would please me if you were a little more properly attired, but I've given up hope," the older man told him with a glint in his eye. "Shall I ready your drawing room, sir? Or should I send the sergeant down?"    
  
Jarvis was the only one of his father's servants who had come with him when Tony moved from London to this sleepy village. He would be totally lost without him.    
  
"You know what, I'll make an effort, just for you, Jarvis! Tell Barnes I'll be with him in a jiffy."   
  
He quickly refreshed himself, glad he had made the effort to install plumbing in the old mansion, and put on the black trousers, white shirt and bright red waistcoat Jarvis had laid out for him. Jarvis knew him too well…   
  
Since moving to the village, Tony had managed to make exactly one friend, the retired sergeant Barnes.   
  
Barnes and him had met when Tony sat nursing a scotch in the local pub, after Jarvis had pestered him to "go out" and "meet new people". He had no desire whatsoever to meet new people. One of the reasons he moved out here was because he couldn't stand the crowds of London anymore. So he sat with his back to the common room, oozing "do not bother me", when a gruff looking man slumped down next to him and ordered the same without speaking.    
  
They had sat in companionable silence the rest of the night. When the last call came they hadn't exchanged a single word, but they were dead drunk and the best of friends.    
  
Somehow they had made it back to the mansion, where they crashed unto the couch in the drawing room in a tangle of limbs. In the near darkness, with the fire in the hearth reduced to embers, the words came. Tony told how he was sick about living in someone else's shadow, how he tried to do better, to  _ be _ better, but how it was never enough. Barnes recalled how he had lost his arm in the Indian Rebellion, mentioned how he was always cold since his return from the tropics and how he can't stomach the small talk and the small town folk anymore.    
  
Tony had almost confessed about the thing in his chest, but a timely entrance by Jarvis had prevented that. Jarvis had given them both warm milk and had covered them with blankets, his way of blessing his charge's new friendship.    
  
Since then Barnes came calling, usually once or twice a week, and Tony was always happy to entertain him.    
  


  
Freshly dressed, Tony entered the drawing room and Barnes immediately pulled him into a one armed hug. "Dolled yourself up for me, have you?" Barnes grinned at him.    
  
"Why, James, who else to make the effort for?" Tony batted his lashes dramatically, but feeling secretly pleased, he loved the feel of the soldier against him.    
  
Flirting with the sheriff had been just for laughs, it was so easy to rile him up. This though, this was something else, this was dangerous. The heat that burned low in his belly was accompanied by something too large to fit in his chest..   
  
Better to joke and make light. So he acted like he swooned and let himself drop into his armchair.    
  
While James sauntered over to the sideboard and poured a scotch, Tony slung his leg over the chair's side and admired the view.    
  
"Didn't see you in the crowd yesterday, James. Your buddy had asked me to help with a murder investigation."   
  
James stopped pouring, his whole body taut with tension.    
  
"Am not one for dismemberment, old boy." He finally said.    
  
Of course not! Tony couldn't believe himself, why was he always so insensitive... "I'm sorry James, I didn't mean to..."   
  
Barnes seemed to have recovered, as he came over to give Tony his drink. "Don't worry about it," he gave Tony a hollow smile.    
  
The silence they shared after that just wasn't as comfortable as usual. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was rather short, so I'm posting this one today as well.

Roughly one month later, Tony was about to step into his carriage when a grubby hand pulled on his coat. Where was Happy when you needed him? He looked down onto a tiny, sincere face, which seemed to be missing a few teeth.

 “Master Stark? The sheriff asks you to come immediately.” The grubby hand did a little tug to emphasise this.

“Does he now?”

The boy nodded so fiercely, that Tony was concerned about brain damage. He patted the head to prevent this.

“And where does the sheriff want me to go, exactly?”

“Master Rollins house, sir.” The boy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They're saying the horseman got’im.”

That brought him up short. Tony had pondered about the Hammer murder. He had the feeling that _something_ wasn't quite right, but he didn't know _what_ , and it was bothering him.

He had wanted to ask about the murders that took place a few months before he arrived in the town, but he had no one to go to. He didn't dare bother James with it, and the sheriff frowned and walked the other way whenever they nearly met.

He spotted Happy polishing one of the lanterns on the rear. His coachman was a stickler for shininess. “You know Rollins’ place, Hap?” Tony yelled at him.

The burly man didn't look up when he answered. “Sure, boss. Change of plans?”

Tony grinned. How both his servants could perfectly convey their displeasure by being utterly polite was beyond him. Happy clearly was disappointed they wouldn't be going to the cricket match this afternoon.Tony gave him his best sincere smile. “Please Happy, if you’d be so kind.”

He thanked the little urchin by putting a silver in his hand, enjoying the happy squeal this elicited, and stepped into the coach, his thoughts already on the investigation.  

They stopped at a rather unsavoury part of the village, on the road to the new factory. By the looks of it, Tony was the last to learn of the murder. Happy muscled him a way through the crowd, having no qualms at shoving people out of the way.

Tony inwardly rolled his eyes. In London the bobbies would have cordoned off the area, first thing. How was he supposed to look for clues now?

Finally inside, he was met with a gruesome scene. The body of what he supposed was Rollins lay belly down in the living area, and was not only missing its head, but also the left arm.

Tony didn't spot the sheriff, so he carefully made his way to the body by himself. The head was clearly cut off, but the wound on the shoulder looked different. He pulled his magnifying goggles from his pack and put them on, kneeling near the wound.

He adjusted the goggles with a lever on the side, until he had a clear picture. He was no physician, but he was reasonably sure the arm was ripped off with brute force while the man was still alive.

Suppressing a shudder he looked up, straight into the sheriff's nose. He yelped and scrambled to take the magnifying goggles off. Now _that_ was a sight he hoped to forget real soon.

“By Jove, Rogers, sneaking around on a murder scene shouldn't be allowed!” He put the goggles on top of his head and patted his forehead with a handkerchief.  

The sheriff smirked and put his hands on his hips. “Got a bad conscience, Stark? Not afraid of a ghost story, are you?”

“I am, if the ghost in question can rip your arm clean off. Do you have any idea what kind of force is needed to accomplish that?”

He narrowed his eyes at the other man, the sheriff didn't seem surprised by this revelation. What was he hiding? “Why did you ask me to come, sheriff?”

Rogers looked away and ignored the question. “You should take a look in the kitchen,” he indicated with his chin.

A blood trail was leading from the body in the same direction as Rogers had indicated. He nearly missed it on the dark flooring, but the murderer had clearly stepped into some blood and left a footprint near the doorway. He slipped on his goggles and made a copy in his notebook.

Behind him Rogers was puttering around. Tony decided to keep the footprint to himself for now. If the sheriff wanted to keep secrets, so could he.

After putting the goggles away, he stepped into the small kitchen. The trail of blood ended at the stove, where he found the head, dumped in a large pot. This was getting more bizarre by the minute. Did the murderer want to leave a message? Was it some kind of joke? He made a quick sketch of the situation, pot and kettle together on the stove. Head in the pot and the trail of blood leading towards it.

He went back and made a drawing of the body as well, when Rogers called from the corner. “Found the arm!”

Tony looked over where the sheriff stood, and did a calculation of the trajectory. The killer had probably thrown the arm away from where he had pulled it off Rollins. He finished the sketch and walked over to Rogers. The arm had slid under the sofa and was partly concealed by the furniture.

“Your murderer is exceptionally strong sheriff. Did the other cases show this amount of violence?”

The sheriff pulled himself up to his full height, giving the impression he tried to look menacing, which was frankly adorable. “There were some folks that said you and Rollins had a brawl only a few nights ago..."

That was true. Barnes and him had been taking a walk, enjoying the crisp autumn evening. When they came by the pub, Rollins and that other fellow, what's his name, started catcalling. Tony supposed it could be seen as good fun, by those who were intellectually challenged.

Rollins however, had been downright vicious. Calling Tony a city queer and claiming Barnes couldn't get a woman because of his lost arm, amongst other things. Tony had broken the bastard's nose, before onlookers had dragged him away. He knew it wasn't befitting a gentleman, but he frankly couldn't give a damn.

“What exactly are you implying, _sheriff_?”

The blond locked his jaw and Tony had the strong urge to shake the man by his bony shoulders. He took a step forward instead.  

Suddenly something clicked, what a fool he was! “You're protecting someone, aren't you? Trying to throw me off… But who?”

He started pacing, hands behind his back.  “Why invite me to the murder scenes at all? Your attempt at implicating me is laughable… No, you want something else from me, but what?”

He glanced over at the other man who looked relieved. Okay, so this was the right track. “You obviously can't talk about it, can you?” A tiny shake of the head.

Tony ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He was missing something! He scoffed, just like the victims. What the...

He rounded on the sheriff, pulling him by his lapels. “You're friends with James! It has something to do with him, hasn't it?”

The look of sheer grief on Rogers’ face was answer enough, but the man didn't say anything.

This was getting him nowhere, so with a sigh, Tony called for Happy to take him back to the mansion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the different chapter lengths, I like to split them per scene, so this'll be a few shorter ones.

That night James came around. Tony dared to sit next to him on the couch, instead of in his chair, claiming he wanted to be closer to the fire.

Swirling the ice in his glass he peeked a look through his lashes. “What was India like? Outside of the battles I mean.”

Next to him James huffed a laugh. “Hot like you wouldn't believe. Filled with mosquitoes and huge bugs. I once saw a spider bigger than my hand. Poisonous bugger too.”

Tony grinned and moved a bit closer. He loved it when James was in a talkative mood. Leaning his head back against the couch, he pushed the soldier with his shoulder. “Go on, tell me more, sarge. What did you do in your spare time?”

“Sleep, laze around mostly, swim if there was water nearby.” James' eyes wrinkled at the corners. “And eat, of course, they have the most delicious food over there.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Tony answered wistfully and, feeling bold, moved his head onto James' shoulder, who hummed his consent.

“All the colours are so much more vibrant there, as well,” looking down at Tony’s face, “you would fit in wonderfully well with your penchant for garish colour combinations.”

Tony gasped in mock outrage. “Garish he says! I'll have you know this is the height of haute couture. I have pieces designed by Worth himself. Not everyone wants to walk around in old army boots.”

He sat up so fast he nearly fell on the floor. Feigning nonchalance he sat back down and casually glanced a look at James’ boots. The main feature of the bloody footprint was that it didn't have an elevated heel. Just like old army boots.

“Are you alright, old boy?” James’ voice was laced with concern.

“Yes! Fine! More than fine, marvellous even. Just had an, ah, an idea for in the workshop!” He nestled against James again, hoping the other man wouldn't notice the frantic beating of his heart. “Tell me, what were the people like over there?”

James took a long time answering, staring in the fire. “Some hated our guts. Can't say I blame them, stealing their riches from under their noses, threaten to shoot them, or worse, if they didn't cooperate.” A deep sigh, “wasn't what I signed up for, to be honest.” James rubbed his face. “Sorry to spoil the mood, Stark. Maybe we should call it a night. ”

“No. Please, stay?” Tony put down his drink and entwined his fingers with James's, who didn't look him in the eye, staring at their hands instead.

Maybe it was because this night reminded him of the one they met. Maybe he just wanted to take away the frown from the soldier's face. Or maybe he was scared this might be his only chance. Whatever it was, he didn't care when he touched James’ face with his free hand and gently put their lips together.

Blue eyes looked back at him, startled, but James didn't move away, which Tony took as the encouragement he needed to kiss him with a little more force. Licking at James’ lips and stroking his cheek, watching him.

“Stay?” Tony repeated.

This spurred James into action, pulling Tony in and kissing back fiercely.

James kissed like it might be his last, fighting Tony for dominance and touching him everywhere, despite being down one arm. Tony wasn't to be outdone and practically crawled in James’ lap, clawing at his clothes.

“We shouldn't do this,” James panted while trailing kisses along Tony's jaw.

“Don't care,” he shot back, shivering under James’ ministrations and pulling at the buttons of the taller man’s shirt.

But James pulled away, looking heartbroken.

“Tony, I really can't, I just can't.”

 Tony sat back, to allow James to leave.

 “I'm so sorry Tony.” With a final glance over his shoulder James was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony shivered where he stood waiting in the dark, despite the thick woollen cloak Jarvis had added to his coat. He checked his pocket watch for the umpteenth time, maybe he picked the wrong night? Both previous murders were during the new moon, when darkness reigned, as it was now.   
  
The past weeks he hadn't seen a sign of James, much to his dismay. He had however, done a ton of research, even going to the London library. Together with Jarvis he had come up with a theory.

Because of this, he had casually mentioned in town that he would pay the county's physician dr. Banner a visit, who lived a little way into the forest. He had lamented that just on that day his coachman would have a day off.

The visit had been nice, but also quite some time ago. He really questioned his decision to come out here when it seemed to grow colder still. His breath crystallizing into white clouds, fingers numbing inside the gloves.   
  
Mist slowly curled up from the ground, growing steadily thicker. Tony squinted, that didn't seem natural... He strained his ears, and sure enough, he could make out hoofbeats in the distance.   
  
He nearly pissed himself in fear, but he wouldn't run, he wouldn't be cut down from behind. So he turned to face the rapidly approaching rider.     
  
He could see him now, coming up on the path behind him. The horseman was riding in full gallop, standing in the stirrups, left arm raised and holding a huge sword. The figure was cloaked in darkness, except for the sword arm and the weapon, these glowed with a blue light from within, faintly pulsing in time with the horse's hooves.   
  
Tony hunched in on himself in anticipation for a blow that never came. The horse reared instead, making Tony startle badly and peek a look. The sight before him made him infinitely sad. Lighted by the eerie glow of the ghost arm, was James, but _not_ James. This man's face was devoid of any emotion and his eyes were utterly blank.

They just stood there, staring at each other, for what seemed like an eternity. Only when the horse became restless, tugging at the reigns, did the horseman sheath the sword on his back, turned his mount and raced away. 

 

  
Tony didn't know exactly _how_ he came home that night, with his legs like jelly after the encounter. He crashed into the kitchen, where Jarvis sat waiting with tea and a pie. He didn't have to say anything, one look was enough for Jarvis to understand their theory about a curse proved true. He sat besides his charge, stroking his hair, providing warmth and love in silent support.


	6. Chapter 6

At the break of dawn Tony set out again, towards James's house. It was a short walk, dread pooling in his stomach with every step. 

When he arrived he noticed all the blinds were closed and no smoke was coming from the chimney, giving the house an abandoned feel. 

Oh God, what if not killing Tony had messed up the curse so much that James hadn't come home? Or worse? What if it had made the curse permanent, keeping  _ his _ James trapped behind that blank stare? Or dead entirely?

Sending a silent prayer to whatever deity would listen, he made his way round the back, where he found the horse in its stable. That was a relief at least.

The door to the servant’s entry stood slightly ajar, which was odd. Molly, James' maid wouldn't be here until nine, James had been adamant he needed his privacy and didn't want live-in help. Well, now it was obvious why.

He silently made his way inside and nearly fell over an upended stool. The place was trashed. He stepped over the stool and sidled along a pile of shredded paintings. Familiar grey eyes stared at him from a feminine face, James’ mother?

He cringed when he stepped on a piece of glass, the loud  _ crack _ echoing along the corridor, but no other sounds could be heard.

All the rooms he encountered were in the same state of disarray, it was like the cursed  soldier had expended all his energy in destroying his belongings. 

A quick glance up the stairs told Tony that the upper floor appeared untouched, so he made his way downstairs, to the cellar. There, in a corner where the light of the oil lamp didn't reach, he finally found James.

From what Tony could tell his clothes hung in tatters and he was pulling at his hair, quietly muttering to himself, seemingly unaware of his guest.

“James?” Tony did a tiny step forward, not wanting to startle the soldier.

The other man scrambled backwards as if burned, yelling, “no, stay back! It isn't safe!” and devolving into incoherent muttering.

When the soldier started sobbing Tony couldn't stay back anymore and rushed forward to pull him into a hug, not caring about the sorry state James was in or his feeble attempt to push him away. He just held him close and swore to help.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony shifted a bit in the hammock, so he could accept the drink Jarvis offered him, smiling gratefully. Next to him, James was asleep in a hammock of his own.   
  
He wanted to reach out touch, run his fingers along the cheek, push a stray lock behind James' ear, but he didn't. Living together meant Tony finally learned the extent of what had happened to James during the war. The times that the man slept peacefully were to be cherished.

So he sipped his drink and watched the sun go under. He hadn't regretted coming to India once. It had been surprisingly easy convincing James to come, despite the horrors he had undergone here. Tony still got nauseous when he thought about what they had done to his lover.

 

In the hopes of staving off an attack by the British army on their city, rebels had kidnapped James and his patrol, intending to use them as leverage. The British command, however, was of the opinion one can't negotiate with savages, and refused to give in.

On the night before the attack the rebels slayed James’ teammates and condemned  him to an even more horrific fate. They cut off his arm and put a curse on him, to slay his own brethren. The British attacked early and the curse was a botch job, only coming about during a perfect new moon.

 

Gently rocking his hammock Tony watched as Jarvis made his way to the lower garden.

Jarvis had needed even less persuasion to come with. He was always up for an adventure it seemed and had claimed the warmth would be good for his joints.

Jarvis was nearing 70 now, but you couldn't  tell, looking at him. The climate agreed with him exceptionally well, ahs did the delightful woman Jarvis had met, who could match his wit and tenacity. Tony employed a host of servants now, to cater to the four of them, but it didn't stop Jarvis from mother henning them.  

No, Tony didn't regret coming here at all. The journey by boat had been wrought with tension, especially when it was nearing the new moon. The cursed soldier did come out, but he was lulled by the rocking motions of the ship and Tony's presence in the cabin. Besides being freezing cold, nothing untoward happened. In his head Tony had dubbed James’ alter-ego the Winter Soldier.   
  
Finally on dry land, it proved easy finding a purohita, a Vedic priest who could undo the curse, if you had the type of money to throw around that Tony did. Almost anticlimactic actually. Tony had fancied a big adventure where they would be trekking through the mountains and jungle, maybe find a lost city or some such, discovering all sorts of new species along the way, see if there was any truth to that Darwin fellow's theory. He imagined James making his way through the jungle, shirt half open and clinging to his muscled frame. They could stumble across a secluded lagoon where they would tear each other's cloths off and...   
  
He looked up when a hand found his, thumb stroking gently along his knuckles. Judging by the glint in his eyes James had guessed which turn Tony's thoughts had taken. He looked down, ah yes, these linen clothes were wonderful in the heat but they left little to the imagination.   
  
Tony's smile turned mischievous, they might have come here to cure the curse, but it had certain advantages as well... Back home they could be thrown in jail for what they were about to do, multiple times, on different surfaces, if he played his cards right.

No, he didn't regret coming here one bit.


End file.
